


Any Cliche In A Storm

by Shotgunpicksthemusic



Series: Cliches Make The World Go Round [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Child Abuse, nothing specific
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2655932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgunpicksthemusic/pseuds/Shotgunpicksthemusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second part of the Cliche Series:</p>
<p>It's the morning after... and Dean is confused when Sam doesn't remember the case he and Cas helped Dean solve.   Cas is no where to be found and isn't answering Dean.  It's business as usual, then, as the boys tackle a string of truly strange deaths, caused by someone who has plans for Dean.</p>
<p>That poor man has no idea what he's in for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [nikistiel](http://nikistiel.tumblr.com/) for looking over this for me. I seriously couldn't do this without you. 
> 
> Comments, constructive criticism, kudos are all welcome and adored!
> 
> It helps to read [A Cliche is a Wish Your Heart Makes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057202) first. You'll be able to understand this without it, but who am I to discourage you from reading any of my stuff. Go, read. I'll wait. :)

Awareness crept up on him slowly, driving the fog of sleep away. Dean stretched, yawning. Last night had been good, so very good. He swore he could still feel the tickle drag of Cas's feathers on his skin, the weight of Cas's body on his, and the taste of his kisses. He twisted in bed to kiss Cas good morning, frowning when he saw the other side of the bed was empty. He ran his hands along the sheet; it was cold to the touch. Cas had left long ago.

Maybe Cas went to get something to eat, or talk to Sam. Then again, the angel never seemed to stay, always leaving. Dean pushed down the sensation of loss and tinge of rejection. Maybe he was over reacting. Slipping from bed, he gathered his clothes and went to take a shower.

The hot water chased away some of his gloominess, soothing his aching muscles. His mind drifted to the night before and he slid a hand down his stomach, palming his cock. Closing his eyes, he leaned his back against the wall of the shower, using both hands to stroke himself, cup his balls, rolling them gently. In his imagination, it was Cas who held him, running his hand up and down his length. It was Cas who put a slight twist at the head, who fondled him expertly, who slipped his hand back to tease at his hole. Groaning, he moved faster, fingering himself. His breath came in short, gasping pants as he thrust up into his hand, the pleasure building until it was finally too much, and he came, Cas's name on his lips.

He took a few moments to enjoy the haze of languid pleasure before moving with a groan and finishing up his shower. After taking care of his dirty clothes and wet towel, he headed towards the kitchen to get something to eat.

Bowl of cereal in one hand and cup of coffee in the other, he grinned when he saw Sam sitting at one of the long tables, reading. He slid into a chair beside him.

"You seen Cas?" he asked, raising a spoonful of cereal to his mouth, lifting his eyebrow in question at Sam.

"Cas?" Sam seemed puzzled and gave Dean a sharp look. "He hasn't been here for weeks."

"What are you talking about? He was here last night. He helped us with that case."

Sam's expression plainly showed he thought Dean was off his rocker, but he would of course be patient with his brother. "What case?"

"The one with the succubus and the incubus. They were working together?" At Sam's questioning look, he continued. "Killing kids? Drugged Cas, made him wanna do the do? Didn't work on me? Nothing? Really?"

"Dean, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do. They slipped their saliva to Cas and he went nuts. They tried the same thing with me. We were gonna try to figure out today why it wouldn't work. You know, research. Only, I woke this morning, and Cas was gone."

Sam closed his book and turned to face Dean with a sigh. "So, let me get this straight. You think we went on a case with Cas. And he was somehow drugged with what? Demon roofies? But you were immune."

"Yes! What's wrong with you, Sam? You're the one who ganked the incubus. Cas had to fly me back here because the asshole stabbed me. Look!" Dean lifted his shirt, looking for the white scar, frowning when he saw his skin was clear, whole. "What the fuck?"

"Dean, think about it," Sam's voice had a patronizing tone, causing Dean to scowl at him. "Why would a demon's ability affect _Cas_ and not you? Does that make sense?"

"It happened, Sam, I'm telling you. We went to the party, they were hitting on Cas, they kidnapped us, threw us in a room and then tried to kill us. Cas was all doped up and he kept..." At that, Dean's voice trailed off. His cheeks flamed. Maybe it was better for Sam to _not_ remember all the fine details.

"He kept what, Dean?" Sam prodded. He sighed loudly when Dean just shook his head, dropping his gaze to stare at his cereal. Sam gave Dean a concerned look. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah, Sam. I swear, I'm fine."

"Well maybe it was a dream."

A dream. Dean shook his head again, refusing to look at Sam and shoveling cereal in his mouth. He didn't have the scar. Cas wasn't here. He shifted in his seat experimentally and felt a sinking in his stomach when he realized he wasn't tender, only feeling a slight ache from his own exertions this morning. As long as it'd been since he'd bottomed, he should be feeling something, especially with as...athletic...as he and Cas had been. Maybe he _had_ just dreamed it.

"Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean blinked, pulling away from his thoughts and turning to Sam.

"I found a case. I was asking if you wanted to take it."

"Yeah, I guess. What is it?"

Sam turned to Dean, his patented _'I'm here to talk if you need it and I care about you so please talk to me'_ look on his face. Dean held up his hand. 

"No, Sam, not in a caring and sharing mood. What's the case?"

With a sigh heavy enough to almost shake the rafters, Sam opened his computer, turning the screen to face Dean. "Three mysterious deaths in Wyoming. A small town named Muddy Creek."

"Inventive name," Dean commented, sipping his coffee.

"So the first death was a football coach. He was talking to his team when he was...uh..."

"Yeah?" Dean prompted.

"Eaten by a shark."

"A shark."

"Yeah, a shark."

"In Wyoming. Ok, weird enough for us. Next death?"

"Uh," Sam said, shaking his head and clicking on the next article on the screen, "microwave."

"You've got to be shitting me."

"No, it happened. Industrial microwave. Guy was found inside. At least, what was left of him was."

"Right. Third one?"

Sam's mouth twitched. He clicked again, pulling up the last article. "Choked on a cat."

Dean gave Sam a blank look.

"The victim was breaking into a house and the family cat jumped down his throat and choked him to death."

"He choked on a _cat_ ," Dean repeated. He gave Sam a skeptical look, draining his coffee cup and standing up. "Like a full grown cat? It just jumped in his mouth? How does that even happen?"

Sam stood as well, following him. "I have no idea. It's certainly up there in weird for us."

"All right," Dean said with a sigh. "I'll get my stuff and we'll go."

"I'll meet you at the car." Sam smiled at Dean's nod and headed to his own room to grab his bag.

Dean walked to his room. He shot off a quick prayer to Cas, letting him know where they were going, casually mentioning that Cas could meet them there, if he wanted to. He sighed, packing quickly, slinging his duffel over his shoulder and turning off the lights before heading to the garage.

They drove straight through, taking turns. The ten hour drive passed rather smoothly. Dean cranked his music, grinning when Sam rolled his eyes at him. They stopped in a rundown diner for lunch, teasing each other over their choices for lunch. Back on the road again, Sam took the wheel and Dean settled in for a nap. He woke as they pulled into the 'Lonely Pine' motel. Sam went in to get the room and they drove around back, grabbing their bags from the car. The door stuck in its frame, but Dean gave it a push with his shoulder and with a protesting creak it opened.

"Should have guessed," Dean said, snickering. 

The room was decorated to look like a cabin, with knotted pine furniture and a forest print on the wallpaper. Pictures of woods and mountain scenes decorated the walls and the carpet was a dusky dark green, thin and threadbare. Fake pine scent filled the air, but that was a sight better than the stale smell of mold and smoke that usually accompanied their rooms. Dean flopped onto one of the beds, sighing in content. At least the bed was comfortable.

"Bathroom's pretty clean, too. I think we hit the jackpot," Sam commented, tossing his bag on his bed.

"Food, Sam," Dean grumbled, not lifting his head from the bed.

"Of, course, Dean, I'd be happy to get us food."

Dean laughed at Sam's sarcastic tone and simply pointed to the door. "Pie. Don't forget the pie!"

"That was one time, Dean. Once. You've never let it go."

"Cake, Sam," Dean said, lifting his head and glaring at his brother. "You brought me _cake_. That's sacrilegious."

"I'll get the pie," Sam said, rolling his eyes and leaving the room, closing the door rather harshly.

Dean laughed and rolled over, reaching for the remote. He checked his phone only to see there were no calls or messages. He huffed in irritation, debating whether to send a text or call. Before he could think on it too much, he pulled up Cas's number and hit the call button, listening to it ring, pushing down the wave of irritation when it went straight to voice mail. Dean waited impatiently for the beep and began talking.

"Hey, Cas, don't know if you'll get this, but, uh, just checking in. Can you call me back? I really need to ask you something, and I don't want to do it over the phone."

He stared at his phone for a few moments more, shutting it off and turning the TV on, searching the channels. He needed to know what had happened. He really felt like he'd been with the angel, like they'd crossed that line, but he was beginning to doubt himself and his memory. He hated feeling like this, unsure of himself. He needed to talk to Cas, the sooner the better.

Sam came back with the food, and he hadn't forgotten the pie. Dean magnanimously let him pick what they watched on television as a thank you. Since they had arrived mid-evening it was too late to do much of anything, as far as the case went, so after watching TV for a bit, they said their good nights and went to sleep. The next morning was a dance of time in the shower and shrugging into suits, but finally they were out the door and swinging by a diner for breakfast.

"Where to first?" Dean asked around a mouthful of eggs.

Sam shot him a bitchface of disgust for talking with food in his mouth, but Dean only grinned, washing the eggs down with coffee.

"I'm thinking the local sheriff's office, see what they have, then the morgue. We need to talk to the family members as well."

"Sounds good."

They quickly finished their food and downed the last of their coffee, sweeping their jackets up and on. The drive to the sheriff's was short and soon Dean was pulling into the parking lot and exiting the car. He squared his shoulders and walked in, a smile on his face and confidence in his step, Sam right beside him.

They introduced themselves and were asked to wait, so they settled in the hard plastic chairs that seemed to be standard for all waiting areas. Dean glanced at Sam to see if he was paying attention, but Sam was engrossed in whatever he was doing on his phone, so Dean unlocked his. Still no response from Cas. He frowned at his phone, as if it were its fault. Cas sometimes dropped off the radar, true, but he usually would respond if Dean were insistent. Dean kinda felt like a needy chick, but he shot off a text anyway.

_'Hey, man, haven't heard yet from you. Really need to talk to you. It's important. Pls call or text me back, or even better stop by. At the Lonely Pine motel in Muddy Creek.'_

He hit send just as the sheriff came out to greet them, leading both men back to his office to talk. By the time they were done talking to the authorities, who really had no clue how to explain any of the deaths and had written them off as unfortunate accidents, he still had not received a reply. Sighing deeply, he followed Sam to the car, grateful for the light breeze blowing. These suits were not comfortable and he couldn't wait to change. Once in the car, he rolled the window down, letting in the breeze.

"What's next?" he asked, turning the key and starting her up.

"Diana Rowe. She's the widow of the man who was microwaved."

"All right then." Dean smoothly pulled out of the parking lot, easing Baby into traffic.

Rowe's house was in a quiet suburb filled with cookie cutter homes and perfectly manicured lawns. They pulled into the driveway of a two story, pale grey home with white trim. Rosebushes lined the edge of the yard, bushes, trimmed and neat, rested under the windows, and pansies waved cheerfully in carefully planted flower beds along the walkway to the front door. With small variations - different flowers, muted, earth toned paint colors, varying cars - the houses and yards were frighteningly similar, as if someone had simply palette swapped homes, changing small details.

"Stepford wives?" Dean asked, glancing around.

"Seems familiar, doesn't it?"

"No lavender, hemlock, witch hazel, or other herbs, though." Dean craned his neck, checking out the flower beds. "Just flowers."

Sam rang the doorbell and a slightly plump woman answered, her chestnut hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was pale, dressed in a dark blue sweater and jeans, and had obviously been crying, her brown eyes ringed in red, still glistening with tears.

"Yes?"

"Diana Rowe?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I am. Who are you?"

"FBI, I'm Agent Perry, this is Agent Whitford." They flashed their badges and after a moment of contemplation, she took a step back, letting them inside.

The house was clean and well ordered, decorated simply but tastefully. Dean and Sam followed her through an entry way and into the living room, sitting on the couch while Diana perched on a chair.

"I don't understand, I already spoke to the police," she said, suspicion coloring her voice.

"We know, we just have some further questions for you," Sam said, pulling a note pad out of his pocket. "Your husband, Greg, he worked at the processing plant?"

"Um, yes, they work with wood."

"Did anything unusual happen leading to his death? Did he say or see anything, act any differently?" Sam struck the perfect balance of concern and business.

"No, everything was normal. The police are calling it an accident but that's..." She paused, swallowing hard, rubbing her cheek. "He was the night security. He was supposed to be the only one there. You tell me, Agents," she gave them a harsh look, "how does a person lock himself in that microwave and turn it on from the outside?"

"We're not sure, Mrs. Rowe, but we're going to find out," Sam assured her, reaching out to lightly touch her hand.

"Mrs. Rowe, do you mind if I use your bathroom?" Dean asked with a sheepish smile. "Too much coffee."

"Of course. It's down the hall, second door on your left."

"Thanks." Dean stood and walked down the hall. He could hear the murmur of conversation start again. He bypassed the bathroom, moving swiftly into the main bedroom. A quick check revealed nothing. As he came out of the room, he peered into the living room to make sure Sam was keeping Diana occupied, and moved to the hall closet. Here, he had better luck. Tucked into the inner pocket of a thick, dark coat was a small bag of cloth, tied with a bit of string.

He ducked into the bathroom quickly, flushing the toilet and washing his hands before coming out with a smile. Sam looked up, and Dean nodded; they were done here. They thanked Diana, giving her sympathetic smiles and a 'sorry for your loss' before heading out the door.

"What did you find?" Sam asked. Dean tossed something at him and he caught it automatically, frowning at the hex bag.

"Witch." Dean shook his head, slipping into his seat in Baby. "I hate witches."

"Yeah, Dean, I never would have guessed. Next stop is Russell High School. We'll look around there for a hex bag."

"What about cat guy?"

"We can swing by that house after the school."

"Great. Back to high school. This should be fun."

The school was a sprawling, brick monstrosity that proudly claimed it was the home of the 'Fighting Bumblebees'. Dean snorted in laughter; Cas would love that.

"How are bumblebees scary?" he asked, elbowing Sam, who glared at him.

Sam didn't reply, he simply led the way into the school, going straight to the office. Dean followed, smiling softly at the vibrantly colored posters that decorated the walls, reminding students of various activities and clubs. The office was quiet and brightly lit. There was a long counter with neat piles of paperwork, a cup of pens with flowers on the ends, and a clipboard for signing in and signing out students, as well as one for volunteers and substitutes. An older woman sat behind the desk, speaking softly on the phone and typing away at a computer.

Dean approached the counter and flashed his most charming smile at the woman, the smile fading when she raised an eyebrow at him, lifting one finger. He turned to look at Sam, who shrugged. She finished the call and smiled cheerfully at Dean.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, Ms. Sutton," Dean said, reading her name tag. "I'm Agent Perry, this is my partner, Agent Whitford. We're investigating Coach Zimmerman's death and wondered if we could take a look at his office, and talk to the students?"

"I'll get the principal," she said with a smile, picking up the phone again.

A door opened and a smartly dressed woman stepped out, offering her hand for Dean and Sam to shake.

"Rosalie Valdez. I'm the principal here, what can I do for you?"

Dean repeated what he'd told the office assistant, flashing his badge, Sam doing the same.

"Well," she frowned, "we'd need parent permission to talk to the students, but I can have someone show you to the office while I call the parents."

"That'd be great." Dean smiled reassuringly.

She nodded and called for a student aide, who led them to the coach's office. It was small, but neat, with framed certificates on the wall, a trophy case filled with gold and silver awards taking up the entirety of one wall, and sports paraphernalia scattered here and there. The imposing, dark wood desk was clear of papers or anything personal. Dean guessed the cops had already been there, sorting through everything, but they weren't looking for the same things Dean and Sam were.

Sam picked the lock on the trophy case, searching through it. Dean worked on the desk, opening drawers, feeling under the lip, looking underneath. A knock on the door startled them and they quickly straightened up. Sam opened to the door to a lanky teenage boy and Principal Valdez.

"This is Ryan. I was only able to reach a few parents, so after you're done talking to him, if you still need to speak to others, I'll bring the next one."

They both stepped in the office. Ryan sat in a chair with the principal behind him. Dean glanced at Sam, who took the hint and sat in a chair opposite the boy.

"Ryan, we just need to know what you saw, what you remember from that day. Anything you can think of, no matter how small a detail, no matter how strange it may be, will help."

Ryan looked at the principal and nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Well, we'd been fighting in the team, you know. One of the guys was picking fights with another and pulling us all into it and Coach, I guess he was done, because he gathered us all on the field. He was talking about how we needed to be a team, we needed to be a cohesive whole, needed to work together, watch out for each other. He was telling some story about how he and some friends of his had this big fight, and how they promised never to talk about it, but he was to help us. And then..."

He stopped talking, clearly upset about what he'd seen. He bit his lip, his eyes glued on his hands, which he was twisting in his lap. Valdez put her hand on Ryan's shoulder and he sucked in air, letting it out in a shuddering breath before continuing.

"He, uh, this shark, this freaking shark came out of nowhere and just grabbed him. It shook him, then he was gone."

"They never found the body," Dean said. It was a statement, but Valdez answered anyway.

"No," Valdez said. "There was a lot of blood, but no body and certainly nowhere a _shark_ , of all things, could have come from."

All of this was familiar, and suddenly, it clicked into place. Sam could tell Dean had figured out something and he glanced curiously at him, but Dean only gave a minuscule shake of his head.

"All right, thank you, Ryan, and you, Principal Valdez, I think we're good here. We just need a few more minutes in the office and then we'll be out of your hair." Dean smiled, urging Ryan to stand and ushering the two to the door.

"If you're sure?"

"I am. We're good. We'll stop by the office to let you know we're done."

Sam waited until they left and the door had shut to turn to Dean.

"Care to explain that?"

"First, keep looking for that hex bag. I know what's going on. At least," Dean paused, looking at the framed objects on the wall, "I know what the weird deaths are and where they're from."

He pulled a shadow box down from the wall and sat at the desk, flipping it over. There were clamps at the corners keeping the back on and he loosened those, pulling the thick cardboard off.

"Enlighten me, then." Damn, but Sam sounded peevish.

"Ok, so the first death, the microwave. Guard gets shut in and killed, with supposedly no one around. Second death, guy gives inspirational speech, dies by shark, third death, death by cat."

"I know this, Dean."

"Movies," Dean crowed, pulling the hex bag from underneath a jersey in the box.

"Movies?" Sam questioned, taking the hex bag from Dean and tucking it in his pocket. He watched Dean put the shadow box back together.

"Yeah. The microwave was _Kick Ass_ , the shark was from _Deep Blue Sea_ , and the cat was _Tales from the Darkside_."

"She's killing people by copying deaths from movies?" Sam looked absolutely disgusted. He followed Dean from the room.

"Yeah, I know. And not even good movies. Although, anything with Samuel Jackson is automatically bumped closer to awesome. Let's get out of here and check out the cat thing. Then we need to research to see how these people connect. I want to find this witch and gank him or her."

"Agreed." Sam was just as anxious to be done with this witch. He sighed, having a feeling that it wasn't going to be easy.

~~*~~

"Nothing links these guys together," Dean groaned, dropping his head to the table.

Sam snorted in laughter and lifted his cup to take a sip of coffee. "We just have to keep looking, Dean."

"Don't wanna look anymore. My head hurts," Dean responded, his voice muffled.

"Really, Dean?"

Dean lifted his head to look at his brother, and yes, there was his bitchface. Dean groaned and exaggeratedly thunked his head back on the table.

"I'm done, Sammy. Give me something else to do."

"Wait, I think I found something." Sam sounded excited, which made Dean smirk. Sam was such a nerd.

Dean got up from his chair and walked around the table, leaning over Sam's shoulder to look at his computer screen.

"I was looking at their bank accounts and they all have these monthly charges. There are different descriptors, but the dollar amounts are exactly the same, and the charges are all within a week of each other."

"Can you trace them?"

"I think it would be easier to find out another way. I'm going to call Diana Rowe. Maybe she knows what her husband was spending money on."

"You do that. I'm going on a food run." Dean stood up and grabbed his jacket, checking for his keys and wallet.

"Bring me salad," Sam ordered, pulling out his phone.

"Sure thing, Bugs," Dean said, ducking out the door as Sam scowled at him.

He returned with a chef salad for Sam with his favorite dressing and a double bacon cheese burger, extra onions and curly fries for himself. Sam groaned at the sight of Dean's dinner.

"Extra onions, Dean? Did you have to?"

"Yup. Moral imperative, Sam. What'd you find out?" He took a big bite of his burger, groaning at the burst of flavor. It was perfect.

"So, get this. He was seeing a psychic. His wife thought it was foolish, but it was his one vice, so she let it go."

"Why not just list it as psychic on the charges, then?"

"Because," Sam paused to take a drink of his soda, "I'm guessing for discretion."

"So, where is this psychic?"

"Not too far from the school. It's still pretty early," and it was, just past three in the afternoon, "I thought we could check it out when we're done eating."

"Right then. Chomp away, bunny boy."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said, grabbing Dean's burger wrapper, balling it up and throwing it at Dean's head. Dean ducked, laughing, and took another big bite of his burger.

~~*~~

They ended up in a strip mall, at the end of a long 'L' of sad, neglected buildings. The brick wall was crumbling in many places, the windows of the various shops were grimy and had peeling caulking, and the parking lot was so full of pot holes that Dean had feared for the safety of the Impala.

"Not much to look at, is it?" he asked, his lip curling as he regarded the dingy glass door. A moon and sun graced the top of the door in fading, chipped paint, the words 'Psychic', 'Readings and Fortunes', and 'By Appointment Only' lettered underneath. The store itself was dark.

Dean tried the door, surprised when it opened. He drew his gun, noticing Sam did the same, and cautiously, they entered the dim room. It was a simple square room, with an oval glass counter dominating the center, filled with crystals, incense, and various trinkets and charms. Shelves lined the walls, covered with books, ceramic figures, and tarot cards. Crystals, dream catchers and wind spinners hung from the ceiling.

"See anyone?" Dean asked quietly, looking around.

"No, but I found a room," Sam replied, indicating a door in the back.

He walked to it, Dean on the other side of the glass counter, both with guns up and ready. When they got to the door, Sam carefully tried the knob. It turned easily and he looked at Dean, who nodded at him to go ahead. Sam threw open the door and Dean went in, ready for trouble.

"Room's empty," he said, lowering his gun; Sam did the same when he entered the room.

The walls were covered with dark cloth and a round table sat in the middle, with three chairs pushed in. A midnight blue tablecloth covered the table. In the center sat a black telephone. The phone lit up suddenly giving a sharp burst of grating sound as it rang, startling both men. Glancing at Sam, who shrugged, Dean pushed the speaker phone button.

"My, my aren't you two the curious little kiddies." The voice was sultry, low, and definitely male. "Find anything you like, green eyes? I'm sure we could work _something_ out for payment."

"Gross," Dean said, scowling.

"What do you want?" Sam asked. "You know we're going to find you."

"I have to say, when I figured out the infamous Winchesters were here, well, I almost lost it. But I don't think I'll let you capture me just yet. I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was the lovely Dean who figured out the movie references."

"Yeah. Couldn't you at least have picked decent movies?"

"Not to worry, Dean. You see, I think I've paid too much attention to movies. I'm going to give television a try."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean shot Sam a look. How were they going to figure out where this freak was?

"You'll find out. I'm done here, boys. If I were you, I'd leave the building, and quickly. That's all, folks!"

The phone died with a buzzing sound. Dean and Sam shared a look and ran for the front door, barely making it outside before the store erupted in flames, incinerating everything inside. Dean watched it burn as Sam called 911, reporting the fire. They took off before the police responded. Neither one particularly felt like talking to the cops.

"What do you think he meant by giving TV a try?" Sam asked.

"Not sure, but I'm going to drop you off at the hotel. If I can get to the phone company before they close, I can see if they can tell where he was calling from."

"What am I going to do at the hotel?"

"Follow the money trail. We know where it came from, you can find out where it was going. I doubt he's going to just leave without his money."

"Ok," Sam agreed. When Dean pulled up to the hotel, he got out and shut his door, then leaned in the open window. "Be careful, Dean."

"I will," Dean promised with a small smile. He waited until Sam backed away, then reversed and drove off.

Sam walked to the door and put the key in the lock, frowning when the door swung open easily, without him even having to turn the knob. He pulled his gun again, entering cautiously.

"Hello, Sam."

"Cas." Sam sighed in relief, putting his gun away. He smiled at Cas, moving forward to where he sat at the table. "Why are you here?"

"Dean asked me to come. I found this in your room," Cas said, pulling a hex bag out of his pocket and placing it on the table. "Where is Dean?"

"He went to check something out. Why?"

"I think he's in danger, Sam. You should call him and have him return."

"Sure," Sam said, pulling his phone out.

~~*~~

Dean drove along, his music cranked up, his elbow out the window. He grinned as ' _TNT_ ' came on and turned the music up a notch, singing along. Suddenly a bright light filled his vision, blinding him, and he had only seconds before the Impala slammed into something, throwing him forward, cracking his head on the steering wheel, and making his world go dark.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in a hospital is shitty enough as it is, but Dean's got more on his plate to worry about than yet another hospital stay. His parents are still alive, he's got a past he can't remember, and Cas... Well, Cas is immaterial. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, constructive criticism, kudos are all welcome and adored!
> 
> If anyone would be interested in being a beta for me, please let me know by going to my [Tumblr](http://monkeyscomewithme.tumblr.com) and leaving a message? Or comment here? :) Thanks!

There were many ways that Dean loved to wake up. Slow, delicious mornings, with long, languid stretches and burrowing back under the covers. Blinking sleep from his eyes to see his brother removing his hand, where he'd gently shaken Dean awake, matching smiles on their faces. A body curled against him, skin moving on skin, pulling him from the depths of sleep in a heated flash of desire. All of these were awesome ways to wake up.

There were many ways he hated to wake up. Pain blossoming as he came to from being knocked out, yet again. Stiff and sore from too many blows taken when killing their latest monster. Heart racing, breath short, panic suffusing his entire body while he tried desperately to fight the nightmares.

But worse of all, he thought, was waking up in a hospital, as he now found himself. The machines around him wooshed and hummed and beeped. His head ached fiercely, the cannula was irritating his nose, and his mouth was dry. He lifted his hand to pull the damn thing out of his nose. The IV in his hand stretched and pulled, pinching the fragile skin, so Dean let his hand fall with a sigh.

"Awake, are we?"

Glaring, Dean frowned at the chipper voice of the nurse who entered the room. She seemed unaffected, smiling widely at him, moving forward to check the machines and make some notes. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a bun, her scrubs had a teddy bear pattern on them which made Dean's eyes cross, and her blue eyes sparkled at him as she turned to face him again.

"My name is Nurse Griffith, and I'll be taking care of you today. And how are we feeling?"

"I don't know how you're feeling, but I feel like shit," Dean grumbled, his voice rough and cracked. "Where am I?"

"The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you and explain." Nurse Griffith smiled brightly at him. "In the meantime, I'll let your family know you're awake."

"My family?" Dean blinked at her, his head feeling fuzzy. "You mean Sam?"

"Well, I'm not sure about Sam, but your mom and dad have been here all night. I'll go get them now."

Before Dean could respond, could even process what she said, she left the room, leaving him staring at the door in confusion. He tilted his head back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling tiles, searching his memory. He'd left Sam at the hotel. He remembered a bright light, a sickening crash, and then pain and darkness. Had he been taken by a djinn? Had something else supernatural found him? Or maybe it was a curse from the witch?

"Dean?"

His breath caught in his throat when he saw his mother, looking as beautiful as ever, standing in the doorway. He wasn't ashamed of the tears that stung his eyes as he smiled weakly at her.

"Mom?" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, swallowing hard.

Mary walked inside, a soft smile on her lips. She approached the bed, gently brushing Dean's hair back from his forehead, mindful of the lump on his left temple.

"How are you?"

"Confused. What happened?"

"You had an accident." John stepped in, a bit more somber than Mary. "Dean, what were you thinking? Why did you crash?"

"John, now, really?"

"We need to know, Mary," John said. He turned his gaze on Dean, his eyebrow rising, his look questioning.

"I don't know. I don't remember." Dean glanced between the two. "I don't know why I'm here or where I am or what's going on."

"You don't remember? You don't remember wrapping your car around a tree? What were you trying to do? I know things haven't been great, but Dean..." John's voice broke and he took a deep breath in, pinching his nose, closing his eyes for a second. "They said you never braked. You didn't even try to stop."

"I don't _know_ , Dad," Dean said again, realizing his voice held an edge but not caring. He could feel the old frustration, the urge to prove himself to his father flare up. This might be a different John, but he was just as demanding and dismissive of Dean's explanations.

"Dean, we love you. We only want to help you."

Mary's quiet words struck deeper than any blame from John could. Dean turned his head away, not even sure of what he could, or should say.

"The cops think you were trying to hurt yourself."

"I _wasn't_."

Dean's protest was loud and he gave his father a hard look. Even when things had been the lowest, when he thought he'd lost Sam, when he'd come back from hell, when Cas had betrayed him, when he'd lost Bobby, he'd never even considered taking his own life. He didn't think this alternate version of him would do that. They were basically the same, right, same Dean, different world?

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Dean was glad for the respite from the conversation. A dark skinned woman stepped inside, smiling at the family. She nodded at John and Mary, moving past them to stand at Dean's side.

"I'm Doctor Harper. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, may I talk to Dean alone?"

John frowned, but allowed Mary to lead him out the door. Dr. Harper waited until it had closed with a click before turning to Dean, her brow creased in concern. He searched her eyes; she seemed warm and sincere in her interest in him.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was calm, very soothing.

"Uh, okay? My head hurts and everything aches." He sighed. "Doc, what happened to me?"

"You crashed your car and gave your head quite a knock," she replied, pulling a stool over and sitting next to the bed. "There was no swelling, you were unconscious, but all tests look good. You didn't break any bones, there were no internal injuries and no major damage. We'll need to keep an eye on things for a while, but it looks like you dodged a bullet."

"Guess I'm just lucky, huh?"

Dr. Harper simply looked at him, studying him. Dean squirmed a bit, his fingers plucking at his blanket. He held her gaze for a few moments before glancing away.

"Did you crash on purpose, Dean?"

"No." Dean looked at her, then, meeting her gaze evenly. " _No_."

"Hmm." She studied him. "A social worker will come talk to you, to make sure you're feeling all right and that there are safety plans at home if necessary."

"Safety plan? I don't understand," Dean protested. He felt like he'd fallen into a vat of crazy, and given what everyone seemed to believe, maybe he had. He watched the doctor warily.

"It's all right to ask for help, Dean; it's not weakness. You know your parents only want what's best for you. You're very strong to have gone through what you have. And I don't want you to worry because we've kept this out of the papers. I know how they've been hounding your family."

Dean was beginning to get a vicious headache from all of this. Why would papers or reporters be interested in him? He looked up, realizing that Dr. Harper was waiting for a response. Nodding slightly, he took a deep breath.

"When can I go home?"

"If everything continues to look good, in a day or so. I'll get your parents."

"Sure," Dean said. "Can you have them bring me something to drink?"

"Of course." Harper smiled and stood, patting his arm. She left the room, closing the door behind her.

Dean groaned, rubbing his jaw. He needed to figure this shit out. He was obviously stuck in some other world or existence where his parents were still alive. Something had happened to make his parents think he'd hurt himself, and somehow, he was newsworthy. There had to be something in his personal things that would help. He looked over to the table next to his bed; a phone rested there, plugged in and waiting. Picking it up, he flipped it open, smirking at how archaic it seemed after a few years with his smart phone.

First things first, he flipped through the contacts. Mom, Dad, Sam, Charlie, Jo... no Cas. All right then. At least all the names were familiar. He closed that and went into photos. There were a lot of pictures of him and his friends, and Dean was stunned at how young he looked. He exited photos, turning on the camera and staring at his face. Smooth, fewer wrinkles (but more freckles, he thought with a grimace), clear, green eyes without the shadows he was so used to - his face looked years younger.

He pulled up the calendar. He hadn't noticed the date when he'd first opened the phone; he was stunned when he saw it: November 1, 2005. Right when he'd gone to Stanford, asked Sam to help him find Dad. Except, he guessed, he hadn't done that here, since his mother was still living.

What the hell was going on? He glanced through the texts, but there was nothing much there. Texts to Charlie and Jo were plans to meet for movies and lunch or dinner dates, texts to Sam were about school and Sam asking if Dean was okay, with Dean replying he was fine. With his parents, he apparently had conversations of when he'd be home and would he pick this or that up at the store.

The door to his room opened and Mary stepped in, holding a bottle of apple juice. She smiled at Dean and offered it to him. He returned her smile, flipping the phone closed. He took the chilled bottle, opening it and tilting it back, groaning when the crisp liquid slid down his throat.

"The doctor says you might be able to come home soon," Mary said. There was a chair for visitors by the wall, and she dragged it close, sitting down and reaching out for Dean's hand. "If something were wrong, you'd tell me, wouldn't you? If you needed help?"

"Of course I would." Dean was at a loss. He squeezed Mary's hand, completely out of his depth.

"Good." Mary nodded, patting his hand with her free one. "Your father and I were going to go home, just to shower and get something to eat, but we'll stay if you'd like?"

"No, it's all right. I was thinking I might rest, anyway." Dean offered her a small grin.

"Okay. We'll see you tomorrow." Mary stood, leaning over and kissing him gently on the forehead.

He watched her leave, half wishing she'd stay, half glad to be alone. He waited a few minutes after she'd gone before he moved, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The IV was on a pole, so he could take that with him. He stood, wobbling on unsteady legs, closing his eyes against the wave of dizziness. Finally, the sensation of being light-headed subsided and he took a step, moving slowly but steadily to the door.

Cracking it open, he glanced around, but no one was paying him any attention, although nurses, orderlies, and patients moved up and down the corridor. The hall was tiled with white, generic linoleum; the walls were a pale sage green. He gripped the wood barrister that lined the walls and made his way down the hall, the floor cool against his bare feet. At least his hospital gown was a wraparound. The last thing he wanted to do was flash everyone, although the thought of the looks he'd receive made him grin.

Signs descended from the ceiling at major intersections of the halls, and he found it easy to follow the directions to the chapel. The small room was dimly lit, six small pews lined side by side in rows of two waited for parishioners and petitioners. White candles lined one wall in tiny red glasses, under a simple cross. It was hushed and quiet and Dean was gratified to find he was alone.

He sat in the first pew he came to, crossing his arms on the wooden seat back in front of him and resting his head on them.

' _Cas, I need you, man. I don't know where I am. You gotta come to me, help me get home.'_ He took a steadying breath, sighing deeply. ' _Please tell me you got your ears on. I'm gonna try to do what I can, but I'm fighting blind here.'_ He stayed a few moments more before standing and shuffling from the chapel, headed for his room.

~~*~~

Hospitals were creepy under the best of circumstances, but at night, the creepy amped up in a major way. Dean couldn't sleep and he refused to ask for anything to help him sleep. The last thing he wanted was to be drowsy or medicated if he needed to move or react to danger.

He idly flipped through the channels on the TV, the volume turned low. It was kind of amusing to see shows that had long since ended, news stories he knew were years old. Still, he wished he were home, in the bunker, or even in that pine scented motel. A soft noise caught his attention and he glanced over to the corner of the room, startling and huffing a sharp breath of irritation when he realized Cas was standing there, watching him, having given no indication that he was there.

"Cas?"

"Hello, Dean."

And damn wasn't it good to hear the deep rumble of his friend's voice. He grinned at Cas, who walked forward, a slight smile on his face. Cas tilted his head, his gaze sweeping down Dean's body, taking in everything, reassuring himself that Dean was all right, if a little banged up.

"I'm so glad you're here, man. I need to be gone, like yesterday." Dean was surprised when Cas frowned, his brows drawing together in confusion at the sight of Cas shaking his head.

"I can't take you home, Dean."

"What do you mean?"

Cas sighed, looking away. "The curse is blocking me. I'm not even truly here."

"Explain. Now."

Before Cas could say anything, the door swung open and the night nurse stepped in. Dean was quiet as the nurse - 'call me Jim' - moved around the room, checking the various machines and taking Dean's vitals. Dean's eyes widened in surprise when he walked right through Cas, causing the angel's form to shimmer slightly before stabilizing. Cas shot Dean an apologetic look and Dean closed his eyes, simply nodding when Jim asked if he was doing okay. He kept his eyes shut, listening to Jim finish up and leave, shutting the door behind him.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I was able to get my essence, as such, here, but physically, I am still in our dimension."

"What the hell is going on, Cas?"

"You were cursed and it's extremely powerful. Far more powerful than it should be, if the witch were human. I suspect you've encountered a very ancient deity or creature."

"Of course I did. Because it can't ever be easy." Dean opened his eyes and looked at Cas. "What happens now?"

"Sam and I are attempting to locate the witch. I've also put word out with my brothers and sisters, seeking aid."

"Yeah," Dean grumped, rolling his eyes. "Bet they're falling all over themselves to help me."

"I do not know how long it will take to find the witch and break the curse, Dean. You might be here a while."

"Great."

Cas frowned slightly; Dean sounded irritated, his voice gruff, words clipped.

"I will come back when I can," Cas promised.

"Yeah, keep me posted," Dean said.

Cas nodded and faded away, leaving Dean alone in the room again. Shifting in the bed, Dean turned the volume up on the TV a bit, settling in. He was stuck here and he really couldn't do anything about it, so he might as well get used to it.

~~*~~

' _I live at home,_ ' Dean thought, surveying the neat, two story house in front of him. ' _Awesome. Bet that bags me the chicks._ '

The white siding on the house gleamed in the sunlight, the windows were bright and sparkling and were hung with lace curtains. The yard was manicured and well planned out, but obviously tended with love, and overflowed with trees and flowers. Dean gingerly stepped out of his father's truck and, taking his mother's arm, walked up the path to the door.

"Do you need help going down the stairs to your room?"

Dean nodded at his mother's question. It'd be easier if she took him there then for him to fumble around and guess where he was supposed to go. She led him through a tidy living room, filled with pictures of the family, into the kitchen, and then down into the basement, his arm through hers, going slow. The stairs swam a bit under his gaze; he still felt a bit out of it from the drugs the hospital gave him and the knock to his noggin.

He'd seen the basement before, of course, when he and Sam had helped Jenny clear their old house. It'd been dusty then, disused and filled with the odds and ends of multiple families. This room was completely different. The walls were paneled in honey colored wood, the floor a thick, plush, dark brown carpet, and there were two windows set into the walls, high enough to let in some light and show a bit of the back yard. Framed posters, some of movies, some of bands, decorated the wall and Dean smirked at the two neon signs that shone brightly on his walls, one a guitar and the other a stylized Chevy logo with a car underneath. There was a couch set up at one end of the room, a TV and sound system in front of it, and he had his own bathroom, apparently. And the bed! Dean sighed happily as he sat on it, sinking into the memory foam mattress with a grin.

"Happy?" Mary sounded amused, and she smiled.

"Just glad to be home, is all," Dean said.

"I'll leave you to rest. Dinner will be in a few hours; I'll call you." She turned and walked to the stairs, pausing halfway up. "Sam will be here soon, Dean. His flight from California landed and your father went to pick him up at the airport. We didn't tell him about your accident. We didn't want to worry him, not while he was still at school."

"So, you don't want me to mention it?" Dean rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up at his mom.

"I think he should know, but I'll leave it up to you. Have a good rest, honey."

"Thanks, mom."

Dean watched Mary walk the rest of the way up the stairs and through the door. He sighed and flopped back on the bed, staring at his ceiling. He hadn't found out anything more in the hospital. It was tricky, trying to figure out how to talk to his dad and mom without giving away the fact that he knew almost nothing about this world. Like he'd prayed to Cas, he was flying blind, and he hated doing that.

"I like this room."

Dean sat up with a jerk, his heart racing. He glared at Cas, who was looking around the room with interest.

"Is this what you would have, if you'd lived a different life?" Cas asked, tilting his head and regarding Dean with curiosity.

"I don't know. The djinn world, I was with a chick and in the one Zach stuck us in, I lived alone. Each place was different. You got news for me?"

"Not the news you wish for," Cas said, sitting next to him on the bed.

Dean noted with interest that he didn't crease the cover or indent the bed at all. He stuck his hand out and waved it through Cas, who stared at him with an irritated look.

"Are you done?"

"Can you feel it?" Dean asked, meeting Cas's gaze.

"Yes, I can."

Dean jerked his hand back and turned on the bed, facing Cas fully.

"Sam has located the witch's lodgings, but the witch is no longer there. We are hoping to be able to track him, but in the meantime, we have discovered some information about the curse."

"Information is good. Hit me with it."

"You are under a very specific spell, a geas."

"A geas? So, what, I gotta go slay a dragon or something?" Dean shifted on the bed, rubbing his forehead. He was beginning to get a headache.

"If you do not fulfill the conditions of the curse, you will begin to die, Dean, painfully."

"Oh, this is just perfect." He sighed heavily, staring at Cas, who seemed to be looking anywhere but Dean.

Dean knew that being locked here was bad and he knew he should be concentrating on getting out, on getting home, but he'd been wanting to talk to Cas for what felt like days. The angel had been abrupt at the hospital and a no show as far as the calls and texts. Dean regarded Cas, wondering if he would actually answer the question he was burning to ask.

"Cas, did we have sex?"

"What?" Cas stood, turning slightly away from Dean. His hands clenched at his side, and he was very determinedly not looking at Dean, choosing instead to stare at one of the neon signs.

"It's a simple question. And you didn't say no." Dean stood and moved in front of Cas, wishing with all his heart that he could touch him. "I remember it, Cas. I remember touching you, tasting you. I remember the feel of you pushing into me, how it felt so damn good that I couldn't breathe. The feel of you moving inside me, every drag of your lips against my skin, you whispering my name? That's branded right here," Dean put his hand over his heart, "and it's never going away. So tell me, why didn't Sam remember you being in the bunker?"

"Dean, you must be mistaken..."

"Don't fucking lie to me, man." Dean stepped closer, holding Cas's gaze, staring into those wide, frightened eyes. "It took forever to get the courage to tell you. I loved it. I wanted it. I want it still. I want _you_." He sighed and ran his hand down his face. He knew that look on Cas's face, that crease in his brow, that shimmer of guilt in his eyes. He'd seen it before in reflected firelight.

"Why would you take that away?"

Cas didn't answer; he only looked at the ground, defeated.

"You did, didn't you. You wiped Sam's memory and healed me."

"I thought it for the best."

"You can't make decisions like that by yourself, Cas!"

"Can you say you were ready to tell Sam about it?" Cas asked, suddenly angry. He crossed his arms, tilting his chin up, almost daring Dean to contradict him. "If I have you, I want to _have_ you, Dean. Not hidden, not tucked away to only be in private. I want to be able to sit with you, to kiss you when I want, to...just be with you." 

"And what makes you think we couldn't have that?"

"You'd go out in public, holding my hand? You'd kiss me in front of Sam?" Cas tilted his head, giving Dean an incredulous look. Dean flushed and looked away, and Cas could feel his heart sink. "I have given everything, all I have for you. I don't begrudge you this; I would do it again and most likely will. Is it so much to ask that you at least try to do the same for me?"

"Not too much to ask, Cas, and I'll get there, I will. I..." Dean swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's hard, you know. The way I grew up, being with a guy, well, Dad caught me one time, and it didn't end well. I've spent my whole life being told I had to live a certain way, be a certain way. It's kinda hard to shake that off." He took a deep breath. "I'd like the chance, Cas. I'd like to take you out and do all the things you want, but you gotta be patient with me."

"How long, Dean? How patient?"

"I don't know," Dean said in an exasperated huff. He caught Cas's eye. "Do you love me? 'Cause what I feel for you? It's deep, man. So, do you love me?"

"Yes," Cas admitted quietly.

"Then we'll work it out. I'm not going to lose you, you idiot."

"Lose who? And who are you talking to?"

Dean whipped his head around, groaning at the burst of pain it cost him. Sam stood at the top of the stairs, looking at Dean with a curious expression.

"Nothing, no one. I was just thinking out loud." Dean grinned and waved Sam in, watching as he bounded down the stairs like the over exuberant puppy that he was. He noticed Cas fade away, but didn't look over at him.

"Now get over here and tell me how Stanford is, and who's the hottie you're mooning over?"

"Hottie? There's no hottie," Sam protested, but Dean's grin only widened and he sighed heavily, plopping onto the bed. "How did you know? I haven't even told Mom and Dad yet."

"Because I'm your big brother and I know everything about you," Dean answered. He closed his eyes, putting the back of his hand on his forehead and speaking with a horrible, fake Russian accent, "Dean sees all, knows all. This girl, she is blonde, is she not? With blue eyes, and..." he paused, dramatically reaching out and grasping Sam's arm, "a beautiful smile." He opened his eyes, laughing at Sam's shocked look. "Too hot for you, bitch."

"How, Dean," Sam gasped, his eyes wide. "No, seriously, how did you know all that?"

"I have my sources," Dean said. He remembered very well what Jess looked like. It was burned into him, what Sam had lost. He'd taken a guess that Stanford had progressed for Sam here as it had in his world and it looked like he was right.

"Jess is coming over tonight for dinner," Sam said. He smiled, a dopey, goopy, I'm in love smile. "She's amazing, Dean, like simply amazing."

"I can't wait to meet her," Dean said. He glanced around his room, avoiding Sam's eyes. "I was in an accident, Sam. Crashed the car and ended up in the hospital. Still got the knot on my head."

"I wondered if you were going to tell me about it."

"You knew?"

"I knew something had happened," Sam said. He reached out and placed his hand on Dean's knee, squeezing gently, his voice sympathetic. "Are you okay?"

"You're the only one who hasn't asked if I did it on purpose," Dean said with a rueful laugh.

"Because I know you didn't."

Both boys turned their head when they heard a noise upstairs, and then they heard Mary calling Sam. Sam stood and leaned down, hugging Dean tightly.

"Get some sleep or something, all right? We can talk more after dinner."

"Yeah, I will."

Dean watched him leave, waiting until he shut the door before getting up. He'd noticed a laptop on the dresser and he wanted to see if there was something in it that could guide him somehow, give him some information about this world.

He almost laughed at how old the thing was. It booted slowly, finally connecting to the house's wi-fi. He opened a window, typing his name into the search engine. If his family was being bothered by reporters, he should get some sort of hit on the web. Dozens of links showed up, one after another. He felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach, a sense of dread and horror at the headlines he read.

_'Local Boy Found After Missing For Years'_

_'Dean Winchester, Missing for 12 years, found in California'_

_'Alistair Grady Found Guilty of Kidnapping and Sexual Assualt, Survivor Dean Winchester Testifies'_

_'Tearful Reunion as Family Welcomes Missing Boy Home'_

Feeling sick to his stomach, fighting the urge to throw up, Dean clicked on the last article. He skimmed it, reading about how he, or the Dean from this world, had been abducted at age twelve. His parents had searched for him for years, never giving up, finally reunited with their son when he'd walked into a police station, a small boy with him, asking for help.

Dean huffed, frowning. He'd apparently stayed with this world's Alistair, at least until the man had kidnapped someone else. That sounded like him, he supposed, won't hurry to save himself, but when someone else needs rescuing then he steps up. He closed the window, unwilling, maybe unable, to read anymore.

Now the questions about the wreck made sense. He guessed that this Dean was close to how he'd been when he'd first crawled from the Pit, torn up, nightmares, barely functioning. If this Alistair was half as inventive as his Alistair had been...well, then he wouldn't blame the Dean from this world for wanting to let go.

Placing the laptop on the floor, he settled back on the bed, closing his eyes. He knew a little, but not enough. He still had too many questions. What condition was he supposed to fulfill, to break the curse? What if he couldn't do it? And how was he supposed to cope with _this_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [Tumblr](http://monkeyscomewithme.tumblr.com). Feel free to come pester me.
> 
> Thanks to all who read, comment, and kudo. Y'all rock!

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](http://monkeyscomewithme.tumblr.com). Feel free to come pester me.
> 
> Thanks to all who read, comment, and kudo. Y'all rock!


End file.
